Roommates With Benefits [BL]
Chapter 194: Definitely Gonna Regret This

Chapter 194: Definitely Gonna Regret This

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After what felt like the hundredth time cleaning the espresso machine, I finally took a moment to appreciate the quiet that settles in at Joy’s Café after closing. It’s that special kind of calm that comes right after the last customer leaves, when everyone can finally drop the cheerful act.

I stacked the chairs and dimmed the lights. Maya and Joey had already made their dramatic exit, blowing exaggerated kisses my way and playfully insisting I "have fun on my totally-not-a-date" and to be careful...

Their voices faded into the distance, a mix of silly coos and laughter lingering for a second or two before the night swallowed it whole.

I’d joked about throwing a muffin after them, but they were quick to escape, still giggling, leaving me alone to face the task of locking up, which felt a bit like confronting my doom.

The soft click of the lock turning felt final tonight, almost as if the café itself was nudging me out into whatever awaited beyond its comforting walls.

Stepping outside, I spotted Jeremy leaning casually against a street lamp, hands shoved into his pockets, looking way too relaxed for someone who’d been waiting over an hour.

The warm glow of the lamp framed him perfectly, catching in his hair and adding a sort of stage effect to the evening.

As soon as he saw me, his face lit up. The brightness of his expression was so immediate, it almost felt rehearsed.

"I was starting to think you’d crawled out the back window." he said.

"I actually considered it."

He chuckled lightly. "So... where are we going?"

His question was casual, almost teasing, as if the answer might set the mood for the whole night.

I glanced around and pointed toward a brightly lit food cart a little further down the sidewalk, its strings of lights twinkling cheerfully against the night. The soft flicker of the bulbs warmed the metal counter and the steam rising from the griddle.

"There."

Jeremy stared at me for a moment, giving me a look that clearly said "you’ve got to be shitting me."

"...There?" His tone held a hint of disbelief, like he was still waiting for a more impressive destination.

"Yep."

"...The food cart?"

"Congratulations, your eyesight is working."

He blinked at me like I was speaking a different language. The pause that followed stretched out long enough for a car to pass, its headlights sweeping briefly between us.

"I..."

"What?"

"I thought..."

"You thought what?"

He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish for someone who usually radiated confidence. That small, self-conscious gesture nearly cracked his polished facade. "I don’t know."

"You thought we’d go some restaurant or something?"

"...Maybe."

I burst into laughter, loud enough to catch the attention of a passerby. The sound carried down the quiet sidewalk, drawing a glance from a couple with takeaway bags.

"Oh my God!"

"What?"

"You seriously thought I was taking you somewhere fancy?"

He shrugged, looking a tad embarrassed.

"...Maybe." That admission landed softer than I expected, almost endearing in its honesty.

I feigned a dramatic clutch to my chest and staggered back a step for effect. It was pure theatrics, complete with a slight wobble that made the streetlight’s glow shift across my face.

"Jeremy."

"Hm?"

"Look at me."

"I am."

"No, really look."

He blinked, the soft glow of the streetlamp catching in his eyes as he finally focused.

"I’m broke as fuck." I said, "What made you think I could afford a five-star restaurant?"

Jeremy smiled, completely unfazed.

"I would’ve paid." His tone was so casual, it sounded almost instinctual, like he had never truly worried about money before.

I gasped, genuinely offended. The sound came out sharper than I intended, more indignation than humor. "The audacity!"

"What?"

"You think I’d let my student pay?"

"You’re not my tutor anymore."

"Once a tutor, always a tutor."

He sighed dramatically, like he’d just lost the most tedious argument ever.

"You’re so weird." His words dripped with the exasperation of someone who had already deemed the battle unworthy.

"And you’re just a soft rich boy."

"I am not."

"You totally are."

We finally reached the cart, and the owner greeted me with a grin, wiping his hands on his apron. The warm scent of spices and sizzling oil enveloped us as we got closer, rich and sharp enough to make the evening air feel almost thick.

"Oliver!"

"Evening, Uncle!"

"The usual?"

"Extra spicy."

Jeremy turned to me, his expression shifting to alarm.

"...Extra?" The single word dripped with genuine caution, as if he were already calculating the risk.

I nodded proudly. "You’ll have the same."

That decision felt just a bit mischievous and entirely reasonable at that moment.

"I don’t remember agreeing to that."

"You don’t have to."

"I don’t?"

"Nope, ’cause I’m paying."

His shoulders relaxed, but then I pulled the rug out from under him. The look of relief on his face vanished in an instant with my next words.

"The hangout’s canceled if you don’t."

His face fell. "...That’s emotional blackmail."

The accusation came out softer than expected, almost resigned.

"It’s called friendship."

"That’s not friendship."

"It is where I come from."

Ten minutes later, Jeremy took a cautious bite, then immediately started coughing, his face turning a bright red that usually signals a health emergency. It was almost comically dramatic, the flush spreading quickly across his cheeks as he struggled to recover.

"What—" cough "—is—" cough "—wrong—" cough "—with—" cough "—this?!"

I calmly took another bite, unbothered. The familiar burn of the spice settled comfortably across my tongue, sharp and soothing in an oddly reassuring way. "It’s spicy."

"It’s like freaking lava!" Jeremy exclaimed. "My tongue is dying, help!"

"It’ll survive."

Jeremy clutched his drink like it was the antidote for poison, gulping it down as if his life depended on it. The plastic cup crumpled slightly under his grip, the ice inside rattling softly.

"How are you eating this?!"

I shrugged.

"As long as it’s edible and it’s not actively killing me, I’m eating it." The words came out through another bite, completely unfazed by the heat that seemed to be breaking Jeremy’s composure.

He stared at me, eyes watering. The sheen of tears at the corners of his eyes only added to the drama.

"Wow, you’re not romantic at all."

I met his gaze, the soft orange glow of the streetlight making the moment feel quieter than the buzzing city around us.

"...Jeremy."

"What?"

"This was never meant to be romantic, I told you before."

He sighed dramatically, prompting a nearby pigeon to hop a few feet away, as if in solidarity with my point. The soft rustle of its wings against the pavement felt like punctuation.

"You can’t even let a man dream."

"I can."

"You choose not to."

"Correct."

We ended up sitting on a nearby bench that overlooked the road. Cars rolled by under pools of orange streetlight while people walked by, juggling shopping bags and takeaway cups, caught up in the ordinary rhythm of the evening. For a bit, we just ate.

Well, I did while Jeremy seemed to be negotiating with his food, treating it like it had personally offended him, poking at it with the suspicion of someone who was no longer certain about anything on a skewer. The sound of oil still crackling between us mixed with the cooler night air.

Eventually, I broke the silence, as it stretched long enough that the city sounds had started feeling louder than they should.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Are you actually close friends with Damien?" I asked. "Because it doesn’t really seem like Damien is fond of you."

Jeremy’s smile faded just a bit, the playful light in his eyes dimming. The change was subtle but noticeable, like someone carefully turning down a dimmer switch.

"We were."

"Were?"

He nodded slowly. The motion carried a quiet weight, making that one word sound heavier than it should have. "When we were kids."

"What happened?"

He looked down at the half-eaten food in his hands, flipping the skewer as if searching for better words.

"Our families happened."

"The rivalry between the Lockwoods and Abernathys."

"Pretty much."

He chuckled softly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The sound was quiet and a little hollow, more acknowledgment than laughter.

"We used to spend the holidays together when we were little."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm." Jeremy let out a sigh, "I thought our parents would eventually grow out of competing."

"They didn’t."

"And somewhere along the way..."

He shrugged, that simple action carrying more weight than the words that accompanied it.

"Damien just......pulled away." Jeremy continued. "One day we were friends, the next...It was like I was talking to a total stranger."

I frowned, an uneasy feeling beginning to churn in my chest. The city noise around the bench suddenly felt more distant, like our conversation had created a quiet barrier just for us.

"That doesn’t sound like him."

Jeremy smiled sadly. That expression was gentle yet weary, the kind of smile that held too much history to truly be kind.

"It doesn’t?"

I shook my head, the motion firmer than the uncertainty lingering in my chest.

"Nope."

"You’ve known him for..." He paused, contemplating. "A few months?"

I nodded, suddenly aware of how much thinner that short timeline felt next to the years Jeremy was referring to casually.

"I’ve known him since we were kids."

I didn’t respond, letting the silence hang as Jeremy stared off into the traffic, lost in thought. The soft orange light from the streetlamps reflected in his eyes as another car passed, its headlights sweeping across us before vanishing.

"Damien has this habit."

"What habit?"

"When people start to become..." He searched for the right word. "...Complicated, he leaves."